


The Absence of Mercy

by sierralie



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierralie/pseuds/sierralie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kmeme.<br/>Prompt: "'I swear, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true justice is!'  Sebastian fulfills his promise to Hawke. Torture, rape, humiliation, very dark!Sebastian. Bonus points if Anders doesn't actually fight back, because he knows he deserves punishment, which enrages Sebastian all the more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Anders crumpled to the ground when the templar released him. His head struck the stone floor and spots swirled in his vision, leaving him dizzy. His stomach heaved with the combination of pain and light-headedness, and he wondered if he might sick up. He wondered what Vael would do if he did.

Slowly, as his head cleared, he started again to become aware of the rest of his body. There was a sharp pain in his bowels, worst at his violated entrance, and he wondered if they had torn something inside of him. It hurt enough for that, and he couldn’t tell how much of the sticky wetness he could feel between his ass cheeks was the templars’ leavings and how much was blood. His throat felt raw, and his lips were swollen. He would have been willing to beg for just a mouthful of cool, soothing water.

He registered the presence of someone standing above him a moment too late, and cried out in pain and surprise as Vael gripped a hand in the back of his hair and used it to force Anders onto his knees. The prince pried his mouth open to examine the injuries there and made a curt contemptuous sound as if to imply that the templars hadn’t hardly been rough enough. A forceful push shoved Anders’ face nearly to the ground again, and he struggled weakly as he was pinned there with his ass in the air.

Sebastian shoved three thick fingers into Anders’ bruised entrance, eliciting a wail of agony from the mage. The fingers spread apart, probing, then withdrew, and Anders felt the prince wipe them off on his back, the sensation making him flinch. The hand that had kept him held down lifted, but he remained motionless, tensed, not daring to rise.

“Blood. I will not have you dead before I have taken my vengeance from you, abomination. You will heal yourself enough to prevent lasting injury.”

Anders hesitated, not sure what would happen if he refused. The awful pain in his gut won out, though, more than he could willingly endure knowing he’d had the chance of relief. “I have no mana for healing.”

Vael laughed at him. “You think to trick me into allowing you to regenerate your power, so you might escape? You will have no such boon from me. However..” Anders heard a soft clink, as of glass vials knocking together, and the sound of a cork stopper popping off. “A lesser potion should be adequate. Barely.”

Sebastian moved, and a heavy, finely-crafted boot appeared in Anders’ field of view, a pace or two in front of him. As he was about to lift his head in confusion, a thick drop of glistening blue liquid landed on the leather, then another. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he understood. The lyrium potion. He stared at it numbly, the brilliant blue a siren’s call to the broken feel of his magic from so long a time drained of mana by the templars.

Anders crawled forward, only vaguely aware of the miserable whimpers he was making. Sebastian slid the boot back out of reach as he closed the gap, and he could hear the templars laughing in the background. He pushed himself forward again, his weakened body dragging along the dirty floor, and this time, Vael did not pull away. With a muted sob, Anders pressed his lips to the leather, lapping at the drops of lyrium in desperation, sucking at the prince’s boot to consume every trace of the precious liquid he could find. He felt the surge of energy within, such small traces of mana restored, but so much more than he’d had since his capture. Tears spilled from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and landing on the newly-polished leather.

The boot withdrew and Vael kicked him in the stomach sharply. “That’s enough. Heal yourself.”

Anders grunted in pain, doubling-up as he was jarred out of his reverie. He started to gather his power to cast, realizing just how alluring was the thought of flinging a bolt of lightning at his captors. Instead, he bowed his head and called on his healing ability, mending the tears deep within and staunching the worst of the bleeding. As the door to the cellar closed behind Sebastian and the templars took their place standing guard outside, all Anders could think was how compliantly he had obeyed when the prince had commanded. He wrapped his arms around his knees, and sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

The cellar door opened to admit a crack of light along with one of the two templar guards. Anders did not move from the spot where he lay, huddled in the corner as if the two walls pressing against him offered his bruised, naked body some sort of protection. He kept his head down, but his eyes followed the hulking armoured man with every step that closed the gap between them.

“Wake up, you filth. Prince is coming to pay a visit.”

Anders didn’t budge. The guard spat on the floor in front of him, narrowly missing his face. “Oh, is that how it’s going to be today? If you’re going t’be contrary, might as well get some of me own fun again before Himself shows up.” He reached down between his legs to loosen a buckle here, open a strap there, shifting his armour enough to tug out his thick, still-flaccid cock. He rubbed it casually, a pungent unwashed scent emanating from his body. It made Anders cringe despite the slight distance between them.

“Get to being useful already, eh. Don’t have all day to wait around on you.”

Anders pressed his face to the ground, struggling to suppress the wave of revulsion that surged through him at the thought of so much as touching the templar after the previous day.. no, he wouldn’t think of that, not now. He pushed himself up to his knees, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles after a mostly-sleepless night on the uneven, rock-strewn stone floor. He crawled the few feet to where the other man stood waiting, and raised his head reluctantly.

“Stop playing like you forgot what to do.” The guard put a hand on the back of Anders’ head and gave a rough tug to force the mage’s face against his crotch. Anders barely managed to open his mouth in time to have that vile soft flesh pushed between his lips. He shied away from it, trying to take his mouth away or spit the thing out or anything that would work, that brief moment’s contact proving that today the man’s cock tasted, in fact, worse than it smelled. A sharp pain at the back of his head as the other man struck him sharply in correction made him groan, but he bent forward, sucking at the guard’s sex listlessly. He could feel it swelling between his lips, and somehow knowing he was succeeding at arousing the man made everything just that much worse.

The templar made an irritated sound and reached down to yank his fully-erect cock out of Anders’ mouth, using the shaft to slap wetly against his cheek. He gave Anders a rough shove, knocking him backward to the ground, and lowered himself so he straddled the mage’s face to pin him down. “I’ll not be waiting for you to do it right.”

With that, he shifted his position enough to force his full length down into Anders’ mouth, thrusting urgently, grunting each time the thick shaft disappeared between those bruised lips. The other man was well-endowed, and the mage struggled violently beneath him. Anders could feel his throat trying to close up against the assault of those deep thrusts, could feel his gag reflex threatening to make him choke convulsively. He tried to take in a breath, but couldn’t fill his lungs. His field of vision was rimmed with glimmering spots of colour, and he realized numbly that his chest hurt with the sparse oxygen. Anders fought to lift his hands, to push the guard off of him. Nothing happened.

He was sure he couldn’t bear a single moment more, not of his struggle to breathe, not of the feel of that thick cock moving in his mouth. When the templar gave a shout and Anders felt a thick, sticky mess of fluid coalesce in his mouth, he thought for sure he really would choke, but somehow he managed to swallow it down as the other man pulled out and stood up. Anders rolled onto his side, coughing violently, clutching at his chest as he tried to take a long breath.

Distantly, he heard voices above him, and he tensed. _Vael._ How long had he been in the room?

“.. may avail yourself of the abomination however you choose, so long as he remains alive.”

“Thank you, messere, that’s very generous of you. He’s still a little unwilling, he is, but I dare say he’ll loosen up in a bit of time.” The templar’s voice, that time.

“I have some duties that will keep me occupied for much of the day.” Sebastian’s voice held an edge of disdain as he looked down at Anders, curled up on the floor. “Leave him in the dark. Don’t bother feeding him - you can take whatever food the kitchens thought to send for yourselves. I shall return tonight.”

With that, Vael turned and stalked out of the room. The templar paused to refresh the drain on Anders’ mage abilities. When he too exited the room and shut the heavy door, Anders dragged himself across the floor and pressed himself back into the corner where he’d spent the night. In the oppressive dark, he almost missed the blue glow of Justice taking over.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders had never been afraid of the dark, not even as a small boy with an overactive imagination. This was different. This was darkness filled with constant pain, something he’d become so accustomed to being able to wash away with the slightest expenditure of effort. This was darkness taut with the knowledge that every moment might bring the opening of the door, the light streaming in offering no succor, only the return of his captors. This.. was worse than the Circle Tower.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard a key turn in the lock, and the door swung wide. The light from the hallway felt like needles piercing his eyes, and he turned his head away. Anders listened for voices or sounds that would announce who had come. One pair of heavily booted feet.. two.. three. His stomach clenched in dismay.

One of the guards called across to him as the little group entered. Anders recognized the rough tones of the templar from earlier.. that morning? the day before? He didn’t even know. “Oi, mage. Prince is back for you. Look sharp.”

Anders lifted his head, only looking from where he was huddled on the far side of the room. He hated everything about the idea of obeying instructions, resentful and angry at himself for having been compliant at any moment since his capture. Even so, as he felt that flash of resistance and stubbornness, his body started to respond, long limbs stretching out and ready to move across the room at the summons.

He caught himself just as he was about to start to crawl, casting his gaze about the room, seeking out the engineer of his imprisonment. Vael leaned against the wall by the door, arms folded over his chest, his expression a mixture of impatience and cold fury and something that might have been amusement utterly lacking in humour. He spoke curtly to one of the templars.

“Bring him.”

The guard crossed the short distance in a few long strides, grasped one bruised arm roughly and used that as a lever to half-push, half-guide Anders to the centre of the small room. The second templar waited there with a length of sturdy rope. Trapped between the two of them, Anders felt a rising wave of panic. The prospect of being bound was terrifying - he could endure many things, but _that_.. no, no. He twisted, trying to wrench his arm free, his feet scrambling for traction on the hard floor, and one of the men punched him in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, forcing a gasp out of him. That gave them enough time with a momentarily unresisting prisoner to secure the rope around his wrists, binding them behind his back.

“No.. please.. can’t..” Anders was frantic, babbling out whatever word came to his lips, his arms working to try and tug a wrist free from the rope. The knots held, and the more he struggled, the tighter they seemed to get. One of the guards kicked him in the shins, and Anders stumbled, falling to his knees, his bound hands putting him off-balance so much that he barely avoided falling on his face.

Anders knelt there waiting, shaking uncontrollably, trying to get his heart to stop pounding so hard it felt ready to burst out of his chest. He flexed his shoulders back, trying to ease the tightness at his bound wrists, hoping that might alleviate the awful twisting in his gut. In desperation, he sought out any thought, any image that would make him stop remembering the first time he had been caught and bound as a boy just discovering his identity as a mage. Nothing worked. He drew in long deep breaths to hold back tears. He would not give Vael that satisfaction.

Sebastian approached, the sound of his footfalls a steady pattern as he walked in a slow circle around Anders’ kneeling form. He came to a halt after what seemed like endless minutes, and although Anders could no longer catch a glimpse of where he stood, it seemed that the prince hovered over him.

“I have spent countless sovereigns, drawn on dozens of favours to find you, abomination. Everything I have done has been toward that goal, _everything_ , since Hawke foolishly permitted you to flee like the coward you are.”

Anders felt a pang at the mention of Hawke. An image of her flashed through his thoughts, and a tangle of complex, powerful emotions surged. He wasn’t sure if he was upset or grateful that Vael gave him no time to indulge in recollections.

“I was a wayward youth. I was a sinful, rebellious youth. I was so angry at my family for not treating me like a valued son that I saw little else. I thought the Chantry was a prison.” Sebastian started walking in circles around Anders again, slow and steady. “I was convinced that I would be happy to do nothing else but indulge my selfish desires, whoring and drinking until I thought up something better to do. I might never have seen how wrong I was, how much the Maker had given me, how beautiful is the love of Andraste.”

Vael stopped his pacing, standing just in front of the mage. He reached down to grasp Anders’ jaw in one hand, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and forced his head up, staring at the mage as intently as if nothing else existed in the world. “It was by the wisdom and kindness of Her Grace Elthina, that I found my true purpose. She helped me to see that I could serve Andraste with dignity and pride, and that I did not have to run or resist.”

The prince ground his fingers in harder, bone-deep. Anders tried not to flinch in pain as the words kept coming. “Everything I am is thanks to Her Grace. I owe her my life. For her life, yours is forfeit.”

Anders closed his eyes. “Kill me, then. Take your revenge and be done.”

The sound of bitter laughter echoed in the room, and Vael took a step back, releasing his punishing grip. Anders groaned involuntarily as the blood rushed back into the bruising finger-marks, a spike of pain that made his eyes water, and he blinked, trying to follow where the prince was moving.

“Do you think I would be satisfied with your death? Do you think that is payment sufficient for the life you took?” Vael’s voice filled with venom, and any fleeting hope of mercy Anders might have allowed himself turned to ashes. “I have been haunted every night in the year it took me to hunt you down. I see, again and again, that unholy light erupting from the Chantry. I imagine the terror Her Grace must have felt in those last moments.”

Sebastian’s voice grew more and more fury-filled, and he snapped out that final phrase before he took a step back and spun to the side, striking the door so hard with one fist that the sound of that impact resonated in the room. The prince stood, silent and shaking, gathering his composure before he turned back to the mage.

“I have suffered these torments and more since the day you murdered innocents for your perverse, misguided cause. Now, abomination, _you_ will suffer as you deserve.”

In the aftermath of that assertion, Anders knew that this time there would be no daring escape, no last-minute rescue, no sympathetic ear that might spare him from a fate he had created. No hope.

Vael spoke again to the templars. “String him up.”


	4. Chapter 4

Anders didn’t struggle as the two men stepped in on either side of him, grasping him by his bound arms and forcing him to his feet. The black despair that had come from Vael’s words left him dazed, detached from himself, as if he were only an observer to what was happening to his own body. Distantly, Anders felt himself freed from the ropes, his body limp in the grasp of the guards as they wrenched his arms around to bind his wrists again, this time above his head. A rusting hook he’d never noticed dangled from the ceiling above, perhaps a remnant from when this cellar had been used for storage. They suspended him from it by the wrists, not caring that he was a little too tall, leaving his feet dragging along the ground.

The pressure in his shoulders and arms slowly brought Anders back to himself, and he twisted awkwardly in his bonds, trying to find some position that would give him a moment’s reprieve. He could see Vael watching him. He wanted to cry, to plead, to forswear anything he’d ever vowed if it would only take him somewhere away from the sheer hatred in the prince’s gaze. He pressed his lips together so hard his face started to ache, just to keep himself silent.

Sebastian stepped forward and stroked his fingers along Anders’ cheek in a slow mockery of intimacy. Anders flinched away from the touch, and the other man spat in his face. “You will wish you had never come to Kirkwall, murderer.”

Anders forced his lips into a ghastly smile. “I really should have stayed in Amaranthine, now that you mention it. The food was much better, and Darktown was always so drafty and cold.”

 _That was_ not _a wise thing to say_ , he thought, right as Sebastian struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Anders tasted blood. He’d always had an unfortunate talent for popping out with flippant remarks in astonishingly inappropriate moments that seemed perfectly amusing - until they actually came out of his mouth.

When Anders looked up, Vael was standing a few steps distant, just staring, something clasped loosely between his hands. Without prelude, Sebastian’s arm lifted, fingers wrapped vise-like around the black handle he held, and the whip made a graceful arc as the long, slender fall sliced through the air toward the bound mage. The tip struck, leaving behind a violently red weal. Anders let out a sharp, pained cry. It felt as if his abdomen had just been sliced open.

Sebastian cast the short whip again, a second crimson line rising across Anders’ torso. The mage tried to gain some footing on the ground beneath, trying to move to escape the worst of the impact, but his feet slipped with the desperate twisting of his body and instead he bared his side to the third cruel strike. Tears sprang to his eyes with the searing pain, and he gasped, going limp, dangling by his wrists.

Without regard for Anders’ struggles and cries, Vael walked a slow circle around the man, his arm in constant, almost rhythmic motion, his wrist flicking at the end of the worst strokes to snap the small twisted end of the whip cruelly against the mage’s body. As the brilliantly-red welts started to overlap, glistening drops of blood began first to appear at those raised intersections, followed quickly by longer slashes where Anders’ skin broke beneath the fall of the whip.

Anders started to believe, through the haze of pain, that Vael would never stop, would just strike again and again until he’d flayed off every inch of skin. He gasped for breath in between agonized cries, his wrists rubbed raw as he struggled against the ropes that held him in place. He caught a glimpse once, as he twisted to the side after a particularly vicious stroke from the whip, of one of the templars leaning against a wall wearing a broad grin. Somehow, having an audience for this torment, people watching without sympathy as he cried and yelled and fought, made this suffering all the more unbearable.

Vael stopped without warning and put himself within Anders’ field of vision, the whip held between his upturned palms. An unkind smile played on his lips. “You’ve blooded my whip, abomination. I won’t have mage’s blood contaminating anything else - so this is _yours_ now, only to be used on you.”

Anders looked back at him dully, the pain scrambling his understanding of the prince’s meaning. “I.. I don’t..”

Sebastian lifted the whip to Anders’ lips, holding it there expectantly. “Say ‘thank you’.” He paused, that smile taking on a crueler appearance. “Thank you, _messere_.”

Anders stared at the whip with a horrified expression. “You want me to..”

Vael only watched him expectantly.

Miserable and humiliated, Anders bowed his head and pressed a kiss to the oiled black leather, tasting just the faintest metallic trace of his own blood. He tried to speak, and the sound caught in his raw, parched throat, his tongue seeming to twist on itself. Vael hissed at him, impatient, and somehow, Anders got the words out. “Thank you, messere.” He turned his face away in shame, the proof of his weakness making his eyes sting with tears.

Sebastian turned away to set the whip aside. “Such reverence from one so vile. Since you were so.. compliant, I’ll be sure to reward you with the whip more often.” Anders heard the now-familiar snickering of the templars at that. He sagged in the ropes that held him, feeling sick with defeat, pain still radiating through his welted and bruised torso.

He thought Vael might leave him to the ministrations of the templars, then. The prospect seemed almost like a relief. When the prince turned to him again and tilted his tear-streaked face up with one finger beneath his chin, Anders realized he was not to be so fortunate.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders wanted desperately to look away, to look _anywhere_ else but into Vael’s eyes. His arms and shoulders ached from bearing his weight for so long. He could feel the slow throb of his pulse through the weals and cuts crisscrossing his chest, stomach and back, and the prince’s scrutiny only accentuated Anders’ awareness of what the man had just inflicted on him.

In his peripheral vision, Anders saw the door slide open and one of the templars pull in an object from the hall. There were tears standing in his eyes still, blurring his sight, and all he could make out was that whatever it was glowed a vibrant yellow-orange.

Sebastian smiled coldly and stepped away, and Anders flinched. The moments in which the prince smiled seemed to be the ones that led to Sebastian exacting the greatest possible amount of torment. Anders watched as the other man picked up a short, slender rod wrapped in cloth at one end. He couldn’t make out what it was - a cane, perhaps, or a.. what? Vael turned back toward him, and Anders could see a glow coming from the object he held - the glow at the end of a metal rod. Too late, he understood.

What happened next seemed to progress in slow-motion; he saw Vael take a single step forward, watched the prince’s arm move, and then Anders knew nothing but agony. He heard the hiss as the fire-hot metal came into contact with his cooler skin and caught the smell of acrid, scorched flesh. He convulsed violently, his body trying instinctively to protect itself as the prince gouged the rod’s tip against his abdomen.

Anders screamed.

Sebastian’s cruelty seemed to have no bounds. He wielded the slender length of metal like a weapon of war, pressing the scorching end against Anders’ flesh and letting it linger there until it seemed it might rend the skin from him when Vael pulled away. When Anders’ screams lessened and the metal had begun to cool by even the smallest amount, Sebastian let the rod heat again in the brazier’s coals, his eyes cold and ruthless. He sought out the overlapping weals left behind by the whip, finding those places already made tender to hear how that changed the sounds torn from the mage. Anders hung limply, screaming until his throat felt like it might crack and bleed, thrashing and resisting only at the very worst moments.

Anders wondered if he might black out. His vision was fuzzy around the edges, making Vael seem a huge, menacing figure with a blurry crimson-orange weapon to hand. He shuddered in brief, jerking motions as his eyes glazed and his head fell back.

 _The water was cool as the boy waded into the shallows at the edge of the lake, making him shiver. Anders cast a glance back at the Tower and grinned. He took a deep breath and plunged all the way into the water, feeling the way it surrounded him, kept his body suspended, and he swam and spun beneath the surface for as long as he could before coming up to take another lungful of air. He could hardly imagine anything that made him feel more free than swimming - and swimming away from the Tower, at that. This time, for sure, they wouldn’t find him._

His cheek stung. Someone had struck him across the face, was yelling at him, indistinct words that meant nothing. Anders felt nothing but agony. The water he remembered offered no soothing coolness, only a bitter and taunting memory that seemed impossibly distant. He felt dizzy, and there were small brilliant stars decorating the world that he could see.

 _The Warden-Commander smiled at him, that secret smile she got when something particularly amused her - certainly not that Anders had ever paid such close attention to the Warden to know her so intimately.. well, not_ too _close. She held out her hands, a fuzzy mewling ball nestled in her cupped palms. His eyes widened and he gasped in delight, taking the ginger kitten from her, crooning to it adoringly. He fished out a piece of yarn from his robes, watching those tiny paws bat at the frayed end. His heart felt light with joy._

Fiery agony pierced his side, and Anders felt his body contorting, the motion forcing the ropes at his wrists to dig in ever more sharply. He could just make out Vael’s face. The prince looked vibrant, more full of energy and passion than Anders could ever remember seeing him before. Every cry he pulled from Anders’ lips made Sebastian look all the more fierce. Anders heard the other man hiss with satisfaction as a new, angrily crimson mark blossomed on the mage’s flesh.

 _He entered her room, hopeful and hesitant and terrified all at once, the firelight casting shadows across her face as she turned with a smile. “You’re here. I wasn’t sure you would come,” Hawke said to him, and he couldn’t cross the space between them fast enough to show her that this was the only place he’d ever wanted to be. He lost himself in the feel of her lips against his own, soft and welcoming and everything he’d ever let himself dare to dream. She drew him onto the bed with her, and Anders wondered what he could possibly have done to be blessed with the love of this radiant woman._

Anders could hear his own voice, though he had no real sense that he was speaking. The sounds tumbled from his lips in between ragged screams, incomprehensible, not really words at all but fractured syllables strung together in some crude imitation of speech. He thought he was trying to beg, perhaps for mercy, perhaps for pity.

Vael dropped the metal rod to the floor with a harsh clang and spun away, his breathing quickened and his cheeks flushed. He gestured to one of the guards, and the man reached up with a long slender knife and slashed open the ropes binding Anders’ wrists. Anders collapsed to the ground with a strangled cry of pain; neither the guards nor Vael moved to break his fall. He clutched his head in his hands, struggling to steady himself, fruitlessly hoping to find some way to lessen the nearly unbearable pain that spread through his body. He started to rub at his wrists without thinking, gasping as he pushed at the bloodied skin that bore the deep imprints of the rope.

One of the templars had brought in a chair, on which Sebastian now perched, and a glass of cool water for the prince’s refreshment. The warmth in the little cellar room made beads of moisture coalesce on the outside of the glass, dripping down onto the dirty floor. Anders watched every one fall.

Sebastian ran a finger around the rim of the glass thoughtfully. “You must be thirsty.”

Anders’ head lifted instantly, unable to mask the raw need in his expression. He nodded, tongue darting out over cracked lips. “Yes.” No response seemed forthcoming. “Yes.. please?” he ventured in a halting voice.

Sebastian dipped two fingers into the glass and held them out wordlessly. Heavy droplets of water glistened on his skin. Anders could look at nothing else. He pushed himself forward, thirst driving him before the agony of his tortured body made him tense and slow. One swollen drop fell to the ground before he had the chance to catch it, and with a low despairing moan he closed his lips around the prince’s outstretched fingers, sucking at the precious moisture.

One of the templars in the background made a snide remark to his companion that Anders partly overheard. “ .. seems to like that a sight better than licking potions from ..” Stung by a sudden shamed awareness of his actions, Anders pulled back, huddling in on himself. The tiny amount of water combined with the salt from Vael’s fingers did little to slake his thirst.

Ignoring the templar audience, Sebastian again drew out droplets of water on his fingertips, lowering his hand for Anders’ lips, luring him near again. The mage’s tongue darted out to catch a stray drop that threatened to escape, then licked the prince’s fingers clean, tip of his tongue darting eagerly along each long digit. He thought he heard Sebastian make a sound, but when he tilted his head to look up, the other man was watching him without expression.

Anders’ thoughts were a tangle, and it was hard to hold on to any coherent, clear understanding. The pain of Vael’s cruelty was still sharp and harsh, every motion making some part of his body protest. This was the man who had inflicted more torture and misery on him than he had ever before suffered. Not even the entire Tower’s worth of templars could have been so vicious. And yet.. as the prince’s fingers dipped back into the cool water, all Anders could think of was how he longed for the reward of being able to lap up those treasured droplets. _Like a puppy_ , he thought dazedly, and then, _But I’m a cat person._ He wondered if this was how it felt to go mad.

Vael’s voice broke Anders’ reverie. “Wait outside. Shut the door.” Sebastian gestured in irritation to the two guards. Anders’ gaze flicked hesitantly from the closing door back to the prince, only to find Sebastian’s hand extended again.

“Suck.” Sebastian’s eyes on him were predatory, dangerous. Anders was sure that this, too, was only a way for the prince to display and glory in the power he held, as surely as had been the physical suffering he’d inflicted. Helpless to resist, no longer sure that his desire _was_ to resist, Anders bent his head and suckled Sebastian’s offered fingers hungrily, letting his lips slide back and forth from fingertip to finger’s base. He closed his eyes, focusing only on his task, using his tongue to trace slow circles around each finger, sucking gently at first, then more intently, oblivious to the small moans that he made as he did.

With a groan, Sebastian pulled his fingers free of the damp heat of Anders’ mouth. He slid his feet apart, fumbling for the closure of his breeches with one hand, reaching for Anders with the other. He twisted his fingers into Anders’ now-filthy blond hair, pulling the mage’s head between his legs as he tugged his fully erect cock free of the enclosing fabric.

Unresisting, Anders closed his lips around the thick head of Sebastian’s sex, more willing than he’d thought he could ever be to service the other man’s desires. He worked his mouth in long, hungry strokes along the thick shaft, seeking to push his lips right to the base before drawing back again. Sebastian’s hand kept his head pinioned, and somehow that little restriction left Anders breathless. A tiny thread of a thought fluttered through his thoughts - _you shouldn’t want this, you shouldn’t be doing this, how can you forget what he’s done to you_ \- but it vanished as quickly as it had materialized.

Anders tasted a familiar salty tang on his tongue and knew he was arousing the prince powerfully, knew how close to release the other man was, but nothing he tried seemed able to give Sebastian quite enough satisfaction. He was remarkably sure that he did not want to know the consequence of failing to satisfy. Anders tried every trick he could think of, his tongue dancing along the smooth hot shaft, sucking just a little more intensely, letting his head bob up and down rhythmically. Nothing worked.

Vael growled in in frustration, leaving his fingers laced tightly into the mage’s hair. With the other hand he reached down, seeking out the angry crimson burns and welts he’d left behind so recently. Sebastian ground his fingertips into every painful spot he could reach, pinching and pressing with cruel pressure, and in moments Anders was struggling on his knees, trying to twist away from the rough gouges, his wails of pain muffled by Sebastian’s cock thrusting in his mouth. Sebastian felt dampness on his fingertips and saw that he’d broken open some of the cuts he’d traced onto the mage’s flesh. With a sharp cry, Vael thrust his hips up and pushed Anders’ head down, and his powerful climax filled the mage’s mouth with his seed. Anders swallowed without prompting, his tongue lapping at the prince’s softening cock to clean away traces of sticky come.

Sebastian sank back against the chair, pulling Anders’ mouth away and drawing in a few long breaths. As the vestiges of pleasure cleared, his expression darkened. He fastened his breeches, rubbing his fingers on his clothing and hissing angrily at Anders’ proximity to him, as if only just coming to realize what he’d done in a moment of passion.

“Do not think this will make me merciful, abomination,” spat Sebastian. “Do not think I am like you. It is only your suffering that satiates me.” With that, he stood, shoving Anders away, and stalked out of the room, snapping orders at the templars outside as he walked past them.

Stricken, Anders knelt on the cold floor, staring at the door. One of the guards came in just long enough to remove the chair and glowing brazier, and then Anders was alone again, left with a raw ache that penetrated more deeply than the wounds Vael had left on the surface.


	6. Chapter 6

Sebastian did not come the next day, or the one after that. By what he thought might have been the third day in the near-constant dark, Anders had started to lose track of the flow of time, had no sense of what might be night or day. He supposed it didn’t really matter. The templars had begun to bring him food and water, at least - not much, but enough to offer sustenance. Never enough to permit him even the slightest chance to regenerate his depleted mana, though, even if the pair hadn’t been actively suppressing his abilities. Entering only to perform those brief tasks before leaving again, even the guards seemed to reject him. Anders could hear them outside the door, sometimes - laughing at some crude joke, shouting over a game of diamondback. He caught himself once or twice with his ear pressed to the door, listening, just to have some sense that he wasn’t utterly alone.

He tried to rest if only to make the hours flow by, but he slept fitfully, the stone floor unaccommodating. The cool firm surface pushed against his slowly healing wounds, jabbed into his joints when he rolled over to try to find some comfortable position. He couldn’t dream - something of how the templars were keeping him drained, he thought, remembering with a queasy feeling that the Tranquil no longer dreamed. He hungered for the surreal landscape of the Fade, for any fleeting connection to magic. He almost laughed at how powerfully he longed for sleep when he’d spent months refusing it, pushing himself through night after sleepless night scribbling out his cursed manifesto. Surely that must have been another life. Another Anders. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes with a low groan, trying to stifle the unwelcome memories.

A sound in the room jolted Anders from another attempt at exhausted half-sleep, his hands lifting as if for self-defense before he was alert enough to realize what had woken him. Sebastian. The prince had hooked a lantern to a holder on the wall, and now stood watching, arms folded across his chest. Anders blinked in the dim light, emotions and thoughts tripping over one another in quick sequence as he was confronted with recollections of Vael’s last appearance. He’d tried to think of that - of what Sebastian had done, of what _he’d_ done - as little as possible in the intervening time, mostly without success.

Sebastian snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground at his feet. “Come.”

Anders felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach, apprehension indistinguishable from some indefinable hunger. Still, he bowed his head and crawled, spots of colour blossoming in his cheeks with the ready obedience. _Only to avoid Vael’s wrath_ , he told himself. _Only that_. He knelt awkwardly before Sebastian, strangely unsure of irrelevant details - where to put his hands, whether to look up at the other man. He disgusted himself.

Sebastian leaned down to inspect the mage, using his fingertips to push and prod as he examined what remained of his efforts, covering every part of Anders’ torso with meticulous care. Most of the blood had drained from the welts, the long marks no longer angry and swollen, but the angry broad burns remained. Vael’s fingers lingered against each of those with something that was almost tenderness, brushing along the roughened skin in slow strokes. Anders shivered with the sensations, hands gripping his thighs to hold himself steady. The unexpected contact set every nerve ending alight, and he gasped as if each touch were a caress despite the flashes of pain that came when Sebastian’s seeking fingers found the places that had suffered the worst injury. His ears caught a small sound coming from above - a hint of echoed pleasure as the prince surveyed the marks left behind, Anders’ torso bearing a map of the suffering he’d endured. Finally, Sebastian’s fingers withdrew, and Anders felt a warm flush spread across his skin in the wake of the prolonged inspection. Dismayed, he realized that his breathing had quickened, and he struggled to rein in the signs of arousal, reluctant to leave himself so vulnerable in Vael’s presence.

“Has he been fed today?” Anders turned his head to see Sebastian speaking to one of the guards in the doorway. “Give it here, then.” A small bowl changed hands, the door closed, and the prince returned, setting the bowl on the floor. Anders stared at it hungrily. Some sort of stew, by the looks of it long since cold and congealed, but food nonetheless. His stomach gave off an audible growl as he caught the aroma of meat and vegetables.

Long moments passed, and Anders tilted his head up hesitantly, only to find the other man watching him with what surely had to be rapidly brewing impatience and an expression of expectation. _Oh_. He cleared his dry throat to speak. “May I?”

Vael watched him, impassive and unresponsive. Anders felt that knot twisting in his stomach again and spoke a second time, not able to keep his voice steady thanks to the addition of a single word. “May I.. messere?”

A curt nod was the only confirmation. Anders hoped he didn’t appear as desperate to eat as he felt, and leaned forward to pluck a piece of meat from the bowl. Before his fingers could grasp it, Vael kicked the bowl out of his reach, and Anders jerked upright with a start. His brow knitted and he looked up in confusion. “I..”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not with your hands.”

Anders blanched, turning jerkily to look at the stew now just out of his reach. Words bubbled up in his throat, choking him in their urgency, and instead he only emitted a small strangled whimper of dismay. His traitorous empty stomach gurgled and clenched as though it were about to consume itself.

The contents of the little bowl were impossible to resist. Anders crawled to it, remaining on his knees as he lowered his head, the aroma of the stew filling his nose. It was that smell that undid any vestige of restraint he might have had. He parted his lips, attempting to use his teeth to pick up a piece of meat with some sense of gracefulness, but his posture made him feel clumsy, and the keen awareness that Vael would be watching him made it all that much worse. He managed to take a couple of small pieces from the top, but after that he had to resort to dipping his head down further, sucking and tugging chunks of meat and potato and turnip out of the bowl shamelessly. When the last piece was gone, he used his tongue to lap up the traces of thick gravy that remained, licking the rest from his lips.

Anders heard a low chuckle from behind him as he straightened. “I don’t think one of those Fereldan dogs could have made quicker work of a meal.” The mocking words filled Anders with a keen sense of embarassment. It only served to accentuate his shame when Sebastian reached a hand down to ruffle his hair and pat his head as if the mage were truly nothing more than a hound. “Are you not grateful for your meal?” This time, Vael’s voice held an edge of reproof.

“Thank you.. thank you, messere.” Anders found himself adding the honorific without prompting. A tumult of thoughts obscured his sense of who he hated more in that moment: Vael, for compelling him to behave as he was, or himself, for not fighting back. Surely, surely what he felt toward Vael was exactly that. Sebastian favoured him with an approving smile before turning to leave, and Anders had to close his eyes for just a moment to shut out that image.

Sebastian paused just before reaching the doorway, his voice mild as if relaying something of no real import. “Ah, I almost forgot! I saw Hawke today, most unexpectedly. Apparently she’ll be in town for a time. She looked..” He cocked his head to the side, tapping one finger against his lips thoughtfully. “Radiant. I’d forgotten just how lovely she is. Perhaps I’ll invite her to dine with me some evening.” With that, Sebastian opened the door to step through.

 _Hawke._

The whole world seemed to pause in response to that name. Anders was on his feet and launching himself toward the closing door, conscious thought evaporating in the space of a moment. He’d closed half the distance before his mind kicked back in, but by then any iota of self-control was far beyond his reach. “Stay away from her!” he screamed after the vanishing prince. “You will not touch her!”

Sebastian went utterly still in the act of pulling the door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian stepped back into the room, letting the door thud shut behind him, and wheeled around as Anders closed the gap between them. As he came within reach, the mage’s face twisted with rage and some indefinable hurt, Sebastian swung his arm in a smooth arc and punched him squarely across the jaw. The raw force in that impact snapped Anders’ head to the side, and he staggered backward, wildly off balance. With an angry snarl, Anders regained his footing and charged forward, undaunted. Sebastian’s fist connected solidly along the line of Anders’ jaw just where the first blow had struck and sent him reeling away again.

When Anders surged forward for a third rush, Sebastian caught him by one shoulder and drove his fist into the mage’s stomach. Anders doubled over as the blow knocked the air from his lungs, and stumbled sideways. Before he could get his balance this time, Sebastian’s knee drove into the small of his back, knocking him to his knees. Anders set his palms on the floor, stubborn with fury and ready to push himself up, but Vael held him in place with ease, weakened body unable to sustain a fight for any duration. Neither man moved for long moments until Anders’ body finally sagged with exhaustion.

Pinned and bested, Anders made no effort to rise or resist. His chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. His entire body quivered as if poised for action even while he was frozen into inaction. Emotions roiled within him: one moment he thought he might wail in dismay; in another he felt ready to lash out agan violently, anything to quell the acute distress engendered in him by the mere thought of Sebastian and Hawke in the same room. His traitorous imagination flashed other images at him, obscene and lurid: Sebastian’s hands on her naked flesh, Hawke’s lips offering pleasure and whispered lover’s words.

Vael’s voice was dangerously calm. “You dare to attack me, abomination?”

There was no reply that would suffice. Anders only shook his head. The prince’s knee ground painfully into his back, forcing a groan from Anders’ lips as his body bowed under the pressure. Sebastian’s voice gained a low undercurrent, a growl of anger. “Answer.”

“I couldn’t.. I didn’t..” Anders hated the pleading he could hear in his own words after the dissipation of his burst of rage. He remembered once telling Hawke how love in the Tower had been a thing that would grant too much power to the templars, after it had escalated into a loss that could not be borne. He thought he had never before felt so powerless. “Not her. Please, not her.”

Sebastian unsheathed a slender dagger from his belt with a metallic rasp. He leaned down as he twisted his fingers into Anders’ hair, forcing the other man’s head back and resting the blade against his throat. Anders flinched from the feather-light contact, barely daring to breathe.

Vael’s voice became crisp, each word articulated precisely, not even his rich accent lending any hint of warmth. “Who is it you think is in control here?” The hand holding the dagger moved, the honed edge sliding sideways, calling forth a line of tiny drops of blood along Anders’ exposed neck.

Anders fought back a wave of panic, too aware of how easily Vael could cut his throat and abandon him to bleed out his life onto the floor. He forced the expected word out. “You.”

“Correct, if insincere.” Another slow shift of the blade, almost a caress, and a new line of deep red droplets oozed from the split skin. Sebastian drew the dagger away and stroked a finger along that long, shallow scrape, the stinging pain bringing a hiss to Anders’ lips. The prince smiled. “If I want Hawke, I will have her. Your wishes are irrelevant.”

Anders shook his head, a wave of nausea flooding through him as he fought to deny the meaning of Vael’s statements. “Please,” he choked out, miserable and sick. Sebastian made a small sound of disapproval, and Anders felt a fresh wave of dismay. When the prince took a small step back, relieving that hard knot of pressure from his back, Anders let his head fall, but remained on hands and knees as if he were still pinioned.

Sebastian laced his fingers again into Anders’ hair, using that grip to lever the mage onto his knees. “So compliant, with a little.. encouragement.”

Anders grimaced, the emphasis on that last word serving as a reminder of Vael’s cruelty. He had spent years lulled into the opinion that the prince was docile, too caught up in his Chantry ways and vows to be capable of deliberate unkindness. He had allowed himself to forget that Hawke’s first encounter with Sebastian had been to offer aid in a matter of vengeance.

Vael leaned down, murmuring quiet words into Anders’ ear. “I cannot, however, allow you to escape the punishment you have earned for attempting violence against me.”

Anders froze, the menace clear in the prince’s voice. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop.. I...” Useless to think that words would change anything, but still he tried.

Sebastian straightened, moving to stand in front of the kneeling mage. “You will learn to obey. You have no power here. This, too, you will learn.”

 _I already know,_ Anders thought, but as quickly as that thought had come he remembered the fleeting surge of rebellious, resistant emotion when he had attacked Sebastian, and knew that he lied to himself.

Vael used one finger to tilt Anders’ face up so that the other man gazed straight ahead. “Tell me again, apostate. Who is in control here?”

“You are.” It was easier to say, this time, if no less unpleasant an admission.

A brief nod, and Sebastian removed his finger. “Hold your head there, and do not move.” He regarded Anders silently for a moment. “Who has the power of choice here, in this room?”

Anders hesitated, unsure of Vael’s intention behind these brief, odd questions. “It’s.. You do.” He started to lift his head to look at the prince, then remembered the command and caught himself. He thought that some expression flickered across Vael’s face at that moment, but he couldn’t quite catch sight of it.

Sebastian dropped into a crouch in front of Anders, dagger clasped in his hand, his body taut and poised to act. He stared into Anders’ eyes, compelling the other man to look back at him with the intensity of that gaze. “Tell me again.”

A gleam of light reflected off of the blade, and Anders sunk his attention into the question to avoid a surge of apprehension. “I have no power, no control here. With you.” He wondered vaguely why he’d chosen to answer that way.

Sebastian set the tip of the blade just below Anders’ collarbone, exerting enough pressure to break the skin. He guided the dagger in a steady, slow downward line, making a shallow incision. Anders let out a low cry, more startlement at first than real pain, and clenched his fists at his sides to keep himself steady. The sensation called to mind the small pinpricks he could still feel across his throat.

Vael’s voice prompted him again. “Place your hands behind your back.” Anders responded with motion, clasping his hands together at the small of his back. The blade commanded his attention, leaving him only partly aware of his actions. “Like that. Good.” The small words of praise made Anders catch his breath; he told himself it was only out of relief.

Sebastian used the blade to incise a second cut down from Anders’ opposite shoulder, mirroring the first, drawing another cry from Anders’ lips. The mage trembled visibly, his breathing quickened as pain started to blossom across his chest. Vael smiled. “And if I choose to hurt, to harm?” He pushed in with the dagger’s tip as he uttered those words, the slender metal cutting more deeply.

Anders moaned and fought the urge to struggle. Even if he had been willing to brave Vael’s reaction, moving when someone had a knife in his flesh was clearly a poor choice. Kneeling as he was, with his hands behind him, created a keen sense of vulnerability that he didn’t know how to manage. He stumbled over a response, awkward and uncertain. “You.. it’s your choice.”

Sebastian drew back the dagger, and Anders thought he’d gotten it right. The prince merely moved further down his chest and began a fresh cut, not so shallow as the first pair, and his words were tinged with disapproval. “Not choice. It is my _right_. Tell me why.”

The pain had become sharper, harder to push into the periphery of his awareness. Anders laced his fingers so tightly together behind his back that they ached. It was almost a welcome distraction. “Because..” He stopped as soon as he’d begun, no answer at the ready. “Because..” He drew in a deep breath, finding it hard to form the right words. “I don’t know.”

Vael sliced a slow, deep line down the centre of Anders’ chest and along his stomach, listening with obvious pleasure to the gasps and low cries his blade evoked. He used his voice like a caress, gently correcting and chastising. “It is my right, because you must be punished for what you’ve done.”

Anders’ chest was on fire. He thought he could feel the blood trickling down along his skin. He was dizzy, light-headed; the only things crisp in his awareness were the latticework of incisions in his flesh and the steady, resonant sound of Vael’s voice. He repeated back a fragment of what he’d heard, trying to grasp at clarity. “I.. have to be punished.”

Sebastian drew the dagger away with that reply, accentuating his next words with pleased approval. “Good. _Yes_.” He paused, letting the effect of those words sink in, only speaking again once he saw the uncertainty in Anders’ expression relax into understanding. “Ask me to punish you.” He crouched down just enough so that the mage could see him clearly, allowing that visual contact to serve as reinforcement.

Anders frowned, his eyes glassy and unfocused as he knelt in a haze of pain and need. It was so hard to speak, to get the right words to come. He ached; the pain in his chest and stomach was sharp and difficult, and he ached in an entirely different way for Sebastian’s approval. _I shouldn’t want that_ , he thought, but couldn’t remember why, only knew that he felt better with Sebastian’s praise. “Please.. will you..” His tongue twisted, and he couldn’t speak clearly enough, but he could see Vael nodding.

Anders felt the knife sink in, no shallow surface cut now but a deeper wound, bright blood welling up around the blade. Pain flared across his torso, and he could hear his own cries as Vael traced long lines and patterns along his skin. The tip of the blade flashed and danced with the prince’s deliberate cuts. Anders tried to writhe and pull away when Sebastian turned his attention to the unbroken skin along his sides and down further, across his hips and the tops of his thighs.

“Hold still, and accept,” the prince’s voice murmured, so close that Anders could feel the warmth of the other man’s breath against his ear. It was enough, all he needed, and the jerky resistance in his body stilled.

Anders lost track of how many times the dagger cut, how many bloody gashes decorated his body. He cried out and sobbed with the deepest slashes, where it felt as if the dagger had penetrated all the way into the core of his body. He didn’t move again. He was proud of that, somehow. Vael spoke to him throughout, little snippets of sound, the words soothing even while it was Vael’s hands inflicting such cruel torment.

Sebastian’s voice was the only thing left to cling to. Everything else was searing pain and blood and agony. Anders felt the prince’s fingers against his cheek, startlingly gentle, and Vael spoke again, a caress of sound to match the touch. “If I want Hawke, I will have her.”

Anders’ heart was a tight knot in his chest. “Yes,” he whispered, and let the prince’s approval wash over him.


	8. Chapter 8

“ _Yes._ ”

After he’d uttered that single word, Anders basked in a profound sense of relief in the wake of Sebastian’s approval. He could see a tiny smile on Sebastian’s lips, and knew he’d answered correctly. This feeling of unburdening, after such a very long time immersed in fear and hesitancy, was akin to euphoria.

Sebastian’s fingers stroked down from Anders’ cheek, along his jaw, down his throat, further. Anders tilted his head back, aware of nothing, caring for nothing except those small points of contact, like tiny fiery trails along his skin. When Sebastian’s fingers found one of the deeper cuts he’d incised onto Anders’ chest, that touch elicited a sharp hiss of pain. Not all of the bleeding had stopped, each wound little better than a glistening, raw sore.

“These will need to be tended to.” Sebastian’s voice, like his touch, was surprisingly gentle.

Anders looked down to see the angry red slashes covering his body, not fully aware until then just how many times and how viciously the knife had rent his flesh. He thought of being able to heal himself again, a momentary daydream sparking a rush of covetous hunger. He didn’t dare reply - the desire was too great, and he feared that any word might shatter the moment and incur Sebastian’s ire.

“Stay.” The prince’s inflection was much like that of one commanding a pup. Vael sounded amused, but the word kept Anders immobile on his knees while the prince opened the door to speak to the templars.

One of the guards disappeared from the doorway on some errand while the other handed over a knotted loop of rope. Anders watched warily as Sebastian hung it from the hook in the ceiling, torment and agony his only associations with those objects. The prince hummed to himself, a light and cheerful tune that felt entirely at odds with Anders’ apprehension.

The templar reappeared with a small bowl and a square of cloth. Sebastian took both and returned to Anders. “Stand, and take hold of the rope.”

Perplexed by the command, Anders started to rise, only to discover as he did that he’d stood too quickly. His legs were wobbly beneath him, and he nearly lost his balance in the first moment. He crouched down, bracing his hands on the floor, gasping as his position and movements opened up some of the slashes and crushed others together painfully. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his legs, hands out to his sides to steady himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stood voluntarily, and the days or weeks of huddling on the floor had rendered his muscles stiff and uncooperative.

At last, he found his footing. Anders looped his fingers around the rope, grateful for the means of support. He watched, still nervous, as Sebastian approached, the prince dipping the piece of cloth in the little bowl to moisten it.

Sebastian squeezed excess liquid from the cloth and raised it toward Anders’ chest. He paused just before coming into contact with the blood-streaked flesh. “I want you to keep still. Do you understand?”

Anders nodded and clasped the rope a little more tightly, although he’d washed wounds many times without instruction to his patients. As he did, he caught a familiar scent from the contents of the bowl, sour and sharp and aromatic all at once. There was something to those observations, but Sebastian lowered his hand before Anders had the chance to work it through, as muddled as his thoughts felt.

Vael ran the cloth along one of the deeper cuts, and Anders howled with the horrible, burning pain that trailed after the little piece of fabric. He nearly let go of the rope as he stepped away reflexively from the prince. “W-what was..”

“Keep _still_.” As Anders blinked to clear suddenly watery eyes, Sebastian was pointing to the just-vacated spot on the floor in front of him. “I did not instruct you to move.”

Anders cringed, the fleeting bliss of Sebastian’s earlier praise evaporating with that curt tone. “I.. I’m sorry.” Slowly, as his skin dried, the stinging pain Vael had induced subsided. “Messere,” he appended.

Sebastian appeared to have been placated. He dipped the pink-tinged cloth back into the bowl, then stroked it down the length of another bloody gash. “These will fester if left uncleaned.” He repeated the motions: dip, then stroke, dip, then stroke. His words took on a soothing cadence as he worked. “When I was a boy, the herbalist would send herbs and alcohol for my mother to dilute with water. I was impetuous and overeager and prone to falling, and my mother disliked seeing my shins covered with scrapes.”

Anders’ fingers clutched the rope in a death grip. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, brought unbidden to his eyes by the agonizing burn that spread across his body as Vael tended to his wounds. He tried to focus on the rhythm of his breath - _in, out.. in, out_ \- but the distraction didn’t work for long. The astringent solution felt as if it were searing the flesh from his body rather than cleaning his wounds. He tried closing his eyes, but that served to amplify the pain rather than alleviate it.

Sebastian’s meticulous and measured strokes with the cloth removed long streaks of drying blood from Anders’ unbroken skin, the ministration offering a small pause from the alcohol’s burn. He had gone back to humming under his breath, the tune unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. For a moment, the sound afforded Anders a dizzying flash of remembrance - _a small, warm cottage with a fire crackling in the fireplace; a tall woman, plainly dressed and care-worn, but beautiful in that way that love always sees; a well-worn blanket clutched in a child’s chubby fingers_. He knew that place, knew that woman. He remembered her tears as he was taken away, and the bitter gall in his stomach when he realized that for all her tears, she would not, could not protect him. He had done everything in his power to forget her.

The prince was attending with slow and diligent attention to what felt, from the mounting pain, like a dangerously deep gash. It jarred Anders from his dreamlike reverie, and he moaned and tried to twist away before he could stop himself. “Hurts..”

Sebastian paused, lifting the cloth away. “Yes. It has to hurt, if it’s to be properly cleaned. You know this as well as I.”

“I.. know, but -” Anders’ thoughts were a tangled mess: memories and pain and the lingering echo of Sebastian’s humming evoking a confused meshwork of emotion. One thread came free, a stray thought he couldn’t make sense of. He had to speak slowly to get the words to come out right. Other, recent words ghosted through his thoughts - _I have to be punished._ “Why -” He took a breath and tried again. “What does that matter, if what you want is suffering?”

“I do want that.” Sebastian touched two fingers to Anders’ cheek for a brief moment to steady and centre the mage’s attention. “Your suffering happens by my hand.” He punctuated the sentence by pressing the scrap of cloth directly into a still-bloody gash on Anders’ chest, eliciting a ragged cry of pain. “You are spared from suffering, also, by my hand.” Sebastian drew the cloth back and paused long enough for the pain to dissipate, waiting for the easing of tension in Anders’ expression. “Everything you endure, everything you experience, everything you are granted, is all according to my desire.”

Anders found himself absorbed in simply watching Sebastian, and listening. His still-teary eyes wouldn’t come into clear focus, lending the prince a somewhat fuzzy appearance, and intertwined into every aspect of his awareness was the fresh pain across his torso and the dull ache in his arms from gripping the rope. The prince’s calm, even voice offered the only solid anchor.

Sebastian set the bowl aside and reached up to remove Anders’ hands from the rope, straightening his numbed fingers. “Kneel.” The command was clear and direct, conveying the expectation of obedience without any need for the exertion of force. Anders sank to his knees without hesitation even though his battered body made him awkward and clumsy, tilting his head so as to keep Sebastian in sight at all times.

Sebastian cupped Anders’ face between his palms. “How I wish, when I wish, as I wish. This is the right way for it to be.”

Anders’ words were an offering, breathless and earnest. “As you wish, only as you wish.” It took him several moments more to understand what he was feeling. It had been too long, become so unfamiliar.

He felt _safe_.


End file.
